


Patience is not Dorian's virtue

by DezeraCain



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Waiting, improper use of Inquisition funds, improper use of equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DezeraCain/pseuds/DezeraCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian often makes very flippant remarks. Since his lover is overly creative, Dorian learns he ought to hold his tongue more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience is not Dorian's virtue

**Author's Note:**

> This is only rated mature because they get close but don't actually do the do. Sorry but no smut here. There is plenty of Dorian freaking out and things not being used for their intended purpose.

When Dorian makes a snide remark about Solas’ ass being tighter than the Inquisitor’s bowstring, it’s a snide jab. The Bull laughs. Solas glares and says nothing. And the Inquisitor gets that little smile on his face like he just got an awful idea. 

Really Dorian should be worried. Those lewd thoughts usually turn into something.

But for the rest of the expedition in the Wastes, there’s nothing about it. Not even when Lavellan quite literally snaps a bow drawing the string too far in a particularly rough encounter with a local dragon. He simply winks at Dorian and pockets the string. Another bow is acquired and they move on.

No matter how the mage tries, he can’t get it out of his head. His Amatus is plotting something. He knows it. He stops drinking in case Lavellan wants to spring it on him when he’s drunk. Well that’s a lie. He stops drinking so much. One less bottle helped, didn’t it?

Still, he’s so keyed up that when Sera decides to go from the rookery to Solas’ little paintshop without taking the stairs, howling like an ape on the way down, Dorian nearly jumped out of his skin. Granted the rest of the library is all shocked as well, but Dorian feels ready to hurl a firebolt after the imp.

He still notices the little weird things. Leiliana is laughing about something. Josephine spends nearly an hour berating the Inquisitor for buying no less than twenty brand new bowstrings in Val Royeux of all places. When he explains what he wants them for, (Dorian wasn’t there for that part unfortunately.) Josephine comes out of her office bright red and goes directly to The Bull’s room in the Herald’s Rest. For an hour and a half. And not a quiet time either.

Dorian almost goes up and demands Lavellan explain himself. The smirking, pointy eared, red headed, grubby little, adorably sneaky rogue… Instead of driving himself mad, Dorian tries to shove his head into his papers until he never comes out. That doesn’t work. Nor does chess with Cullen. Or a game of Wicked Grace, ill thought out though it was, with Varric. Walking away with nothing more than lighter pockets, he resolved to find out the next day.

And then he resolved to find out in a week when the next day his Amatus left for the Storm Coast to check rumors of red lyrium.

The waiting was agonizing. Dorian finally took to sneaking up to Lavellan’s rooms and sleeping in his bed. It was only natural. Lavellan had the biggest luxurious Orleisian bed brought up. That had also sent Josephine into fits, though not as bad.

It was very early in the morning when the Inquisitor returned. Dorian slept in. He did not hear the arrival. Did not hear the Inquisitor’s demand he be left alone with Dorian until one of them came out of his rooms. And did not hear his lover come up the stairs twanging away at his bowstring.

In fact, when Dorian did wake up, he thought he was in a rather odd position. His hands were behind his back rather tightly and his smalls must have ridden up into his ass crack because he could feel something back there. His feet were also very tight together tucked up under his rear.

To his credit, he’d been in this position a time or two before. Just never woken up in it. “Amatus what have you done now?” He yawned, opening his eyes and trying to stretch. His arms moved about two inches, then stopped.

“Amatus!”

“Calm yourself Dorian. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” His lover laughed in that silky smooth tenor. So much of that lovely accent came out in laughter or something near to it, that Dorian calmed before he even opened his eyes. Then he worried again as opening his eyes did nothing to alleviate the darkness.

“Amatus tell me truthfully, have I gone blind? Am I going to be a hopeless invalid the rest of my life?” Dorian did his best to play the spoilt Tevinter brat. Why waste a good caricature?

Again, Lavellan only laughs. “It’s silk Dorian. If I’d known you would be such a drama queen I would send you off to that Alistair fellow who so dearly needs a wife.”

“I doubt he’d be as much fun as you. But on the subject of fun, what have you tied me up with now? This is not silk.”

He heard boots walking over, and then the rope or whatever it was pulled back away from his body… And promptly snapped against the flesh of his buttock when it was let go. “Bowstring, my dearest mage. And it does make such lovely marks on your skin.”

“So this is what you caused our poor Ambassador a heart attack over.”

“And when I explained, she seemed positively enamored with the idea.”

Dorian had the feeling that was not how it’d gone. Not how it had gone at all…

“I would dearly love to try this out, Amatus, but not on an empty stomach. Do untie me or I shall shout my safe word until Bull comes in.” It would be an awfully long way to shout, even if the door to the balcony was not open.

He didn’t have to though, as Lavellan had the strings undone in minutes. When the blindfold came off, Dorian saw there had been padding at his wrists and ankles. No wonder he’d been unable to identify the stuff…

“I promise we can go back to it after we eat, but I am positively famished. Do send someone down for some of those purple grapes you can feed to me while I lounge.”


End file.
